


Say Your Prayers 'Cause You're Never Gonna Make it Home

by LokiTheWolf19



Category: Othello - Shakespeare
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BAMF Cassio, BAMF Iago, BAMF Othello, But I like this Cassio, Cassio is a two faced bitch, Everyone Is Gay, Gen, Iago is a snack, M/M, Memory Loss, Montano is underrated, Roderigo has a dog, Roderigo is a bit useless, Roderigo is also underrated, Roderigo-centric, Shh, Sorry Not Sorry, The timeline is really confusing, There is no heterosexual explaination, and because i like dogs, because he's definitely a dog person, but he's loved, but he's secretly soft, he gets to be a bad ass for once, it's lit, there's a fair bit of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 19:52:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13465386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokiTheWolf19/pseuds/LokiTheWolf19
Summary: Roderigo wakes up in hospital with no idea how he got there or who the hell keeps trying to call him.ORThe one where Othello's a mob boss and Iago tries to overthrow him, only to drag Roderigo into his mess.Rated M for language and violence.Title is from the McFLy song 'Lies'





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing he was aware of was the beeping of his heart monitor. Roderigo cracked open one eye and took in his surroundings. White walls, crisp, clean sheets and a faint smell of disinfectant. He was in hospital? Why? He vaguely remembered a fight. People yelling. Men's voices. Familiar voices. A knife. A gun. Two shots. He was suddenly aware of sharp pain in his neck, ribs and arm. His hand fluttered up to touch his neck. Calloused fingertips brushed bandages and a brace. What the hell was going on??

 

Right on cue, a young nurse bustled in the door.

 

"Oh! You're awake." She smiled brightly.

 

Roderigo opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came out. His tongue felt dry and heavy.

 

"Let me get you some ice chips."

 

She hurried out, but was back in less than a minute, clutching a plastic cup. She sat on a stool beside the bed and offered him a spoonful of crushed ice. He let her feed it to him and felt the moisture return to his mouth. Eventually, he summoned enough strength to speak.

 

"What happened?"

 

"You don't remember anything?" Her brows knitted with concern.

 

"Bits and pieces. But nothing clear."

 

"I can't tell you anything, but there's a detective who can speak to you, if you'd like."

 

"That'd be great."

 

"I'll go make a call," she said.

 

She was gone for a while and Roderigo found himself drifting in and out of consciousness. He barely even noticed her returning, along with an older male doctor. He attempted to wake himself up, but his eyelids stuck together, heavy with a need for sleep. He was dimly aware of the doctor checking him over and occasionally saying something quietly to the young nurse. After what seemed like an eternity, they left. The last thing Roderigo was aware of was the door clicking shut, before he fell into a deep sleep.

 

He slept fitfully, plagued by dark dreams that he couldn't understand. Blurred images. A face he knew. A face that looked terrified. His t shirt, stained with blood.

 

He woke with a start.

 

A middle aged man sat by his bed.

 

"Who are you?" Roderigo slurred.

 

"I'm Detective Hamell. I'm working your case. Do you not remember anything at all?"

 

Roderigo frowned, searching desperately for the images that haunted his sleep, but came up empty.

 

"Nothing in reach. Can you tell me what happened?"

 

Hamell licked dry lips.

 

"As far as we can tell, you got caught up in a fight between two gang members, both from the same clan. We're not sure which group, or who, or what you were doing there yet." He paused. "You've been beaten quite badly. You've got a broken arm, three cracked ribs and you've been stabbed in the neck. You're very lucky to have made it out alive. Your memory loss is due to the blood to your brain being cut off for a short period of time. The doctors have assured me it's temporary."

 

_Well. That explains the pain._

 

"Do you remember your name?" Hamell asked gently.

 

"My name's Roderigo. I'm twenty-six years old. I live in New York City."

 

"That's one good thing at least."

 

"Do you know when I'm getting out of here?" Roderigo asked desperately. He wanted to go home. He needed to go home. What about Zeke? _Shit_.  Zeke was his dog. Who would feed him?

 

"Hopefully in the next couple of days. We'll need you to come down to the station and have a chat at some point, if that's ok?." Hamell's words interrupted his train of thought.

 

"Do you know where all my things are? My clothes? Phone? Wallet?" Roderigo deliberately ignored Hamell's question.

 

Hamell pointed to a zip lock bag on the bedside table. "We had to take your clothes in as evidence. There was blood spatter on them." He explained.

 

"Don't worry." Roderigo mumbled stiffly. He was acutely aware of the pain in his neck. He wanted Hamell to leave. He was tired.

 

The next thing he knew, he was waking up, this time, alone.

 

He reached onto the bedside table and grabbed the plastic bag with his personal belongings. He fished out his phone and switched it on.

 

_6% battery_

 

"Dammit," he hissed under his breath.

 

He noticed fourteen missed calls and a text message from an unknown number. It must have been on silent. He propped himself up on his good elbow and somehow managed to sit up. He opened the message.

 

_Hey,_

 

_I don't know if you're ok, but I need you to be. You can't die on me now. I never meant to get you caught up in this._

_Let me know if you get this. Call me even. I just need to know you're alive._

_I'm so sorry._

_-I_

 

PS: I'm feeding Zeke. Don't worry.

 

That just confused him even more. At least Zeke was being looked after. Should he call this person? He decided against it, planning to wait until he got home. He put his phone back on the table and lay down. He was exhausted. Why was he so tired?


	2. Chapter 2

They kept him in for nearly two weeks. Every day he grew more restless. Detective Hamell stopped in every now and then to ask pointless questions that Roderigo didn't know the answer to. The young nurse, whose name he didn't bother to learn, removed the brace a few days after he woke up and changed his bandages twice a day.

 

Finally, he was told he could leave. The hospital gave him a pair of blue jeans that fit ok and a t shirt depicting some band he'd never heard of that was at least three sizes too big and let him out onto the street, saying they'd check up on him in a week and to call if he needed.

 

Roderigo hailed a cab and jumped in.

 

"86th and Amsterdam." He said automatically.

 

The cabbie nodded and pulled away.

 

When they arrived, Roderigo paid the man and set off down the street, his feet seemingly knowing exactly where he had to go. He found himself unlocking the door of a small apartment on the fifth floor of a cream coloured building. He stepped inside and was immediately and enthusiastically greeted by 90lbs of German Shepard.

 

"Shit! Zeke! Sit!" He couldn't help but laugh a little.

 

The dog responded obediently and Roderigo knelt down to pat his head.

 

He stood up and walked inside, Zeke following closely behind.

 

He dumped the few belongings he had with him; his wallet, phone and keys on the kitchen bench and wandered through to the bathroom. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and stopped dead. The wound ran from just below his ear and along his jawline. He counted over twenty stiches. His face was badly bruised and there was a cut on his forehead and another on his cheek, under his eye. His normally neatly styled ginger hair was a mess. The neckline of the old, stretched t shirt dipped low, exposing a portion of his pale chest. He pulled the t shirt over his head and found that his chest and torso were also riddled with scrapes and bruises, including one massive one that stretched across almost the entirety. What the hell had happened? And why? He tried so hard to remember, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Nothing. He sank to his knees as a sob caught in the back of his throat. What had happened to his life? Here he was, crying on his bathroom floor, cut, battered and bruised and he had no idea why.

 

He felt Zeke's cold nose snuffling against his bare back and pulled the big dog in close. He sat like that for a while, sniffling into his thick fur. The sound of the door opening shook him out of his trance.

 

He felt Zeke go tense in his arms, ears pricked. Suddenly, the dog squirmed out of his grip and ran towards the door.

 

"Hey, Zeke," someone said tiredly from the other room. Roderigo stilled. He knew that voice, but he didn't know who he belonged to. Whoever they were, they had been there when he was stabbed. He knew it.

 

He twisted around and peeked through the door, cold tiles hard on his knees. There, on the ground, sat a tall, broad-shouldered man with Zeke in his arms, his back to Roderigo. He hugged the dog tightly and pulled away, rubbing his ears gently.

 

"Is he home yet?"

 

The man was talking about him, Roderigo realised. Why would he want him? Had he come to finish the job? He thought, panicked.

 

"He's gone, isn't he?" The man kept talking, more to himself it seemed. He buried his face in the dog's fur and Roderigo could have sworn he heard the man sniff.

 

"Look at me Zeke. I'm a mess. I'm not supposed to cry. I'm meant to be the strong one. The badass one. The one that doesn't care about anyone."

 

Zeke licked the man's face in response and a bubble of laughter escaped from his throat. Zeke wagged his tail gently and pulled out of the man's embrace. He padded towards Roderigo and barked softly. The man spun around and Roderigo caught a glimpse of his face before ducking back into the bathroom. Dark eyes and a strong jaw. He knew that face! Terror coursed through his veins and he found himself reaching into his bathroom cupboard and pulling out a handgun. _What the hell was a handgun doing in his bathroom cupboard??? He tucked it into his pants._

 

"Roderigo!" The man called and hurried towards him. Roderigo was on his feet in an instant, scrambling backwards. The man stopped a few feet in front of him and reached out to gently touch his face.

 

"Oh my god." he whispered quietly, cupping Roderigo's jaw and pressing their foreheads together. "You're ok. Oh my god, you're ok. Jesus! Why didn't you call me?" The man's voice was almost angry. "I thought you were dead."

 

Roderigo was confused and scared. What was this man doing in his house?? He cocked the gun and pointed it at the man's chest.

 

The man looked down in surprise and raised his hands.

 

"What are you doing?"

 

"Who are you and why are you in house?" Roderigo growled.

 

"Roderigo? It's me. Iago."

 

 _Iago_.  Even the name was familiar.

 

He moved to touch him again, but Roderigo waved the gun.

 

"Don't touch me. Get out."

 

"Just put the gun down. Please. We can talk."

 

Roderigo's hands were trembling but he held firm.

 

The man- Iago's eyes were misty. They raked over Roderigo's naked chest and he suddenly felt exposed. Those eyes were so dark, so intense. They penetrated his soul.

 

Without another word, Iago turned and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

 

Roderigo dropped the gun and walked through to the kitchen on legs that felt like they could give out at any second. He needed a drink.

 

He opened the alcohol cupboard and took out a tumbler and a bottle of cheap whiskey. He tried to pour himself some, but his hands shook so badly he spilt it.

 

"Fuck!" he swore, hot, frustrated tears pouring down his face. He batted them away and tried again, sloshing the amber liquid into the glass. He put the bottle down and sat on a kitchen chair. He raised the glass to his chapped, dry lips and took a gulp, relishing in the way it burned his tongue.

 

He woke on that chair in the morning, with an empty bottle and a pounding head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mega trash. I'm sorry y'all.

The next few days passed in a blur of drunken nights and hungover mornings. A nurse stopped by one afternoon and Roderigo was surprised that he was able to act sober enough to convince he her was fine. He managed to feed Zeke and occasionally himself, but he was barely getting by. Self-care extended to keeping himself alive. He hadn't showered since he got back from the hospital and still hadn't had a decent meal. He barely slept, but when he did he was haunted by Iago's face.

 

Through his dreams, he had begun to remember. He had been in a house. It was old. Not the sort of old that meant it was merely out of style, but the sort of old that had seen generations of people come and go. The house had seen life, but it had also seen death. Iago was there too. He was angry. His whole body radiated negative intentions. Roderigo saw it all. Bloodlust. Cruelty. But for some reason, he knew he wasn't scared. Not of Iago, anyway.

 

Roderigo's thoughts were interrupted by his phone ringing. He recognised the number as who he guessed must be Iago's. He picked it up, but said nothing.

 

"Roderigo?" came the voice on the end of the line. It was strangely reassuring. He stayed silent.

 

"Listen, Roderigo. I know you can hear me. I can't talk long. I shouldn't have left you alone before. I could have taken the gun if I wanted." There came a small chuckle and a pause.

 

"But I was scared. I'd been prepared for many things, but I didn't even think that you might not know who I was. I guess that means you don't know what happened either."

 

"I have no idea," Roderigo's voice slurred gently.

 

"Have you been drinking?"

 

"No."

 

"You're lying. You said you wouldn't do that anymore."

 

"Did I? I don't remember," Roderigo retorted bitterly.

 

"Look. I get you must be angry. And scared. God I would be terrified. But I can tell you. Everything."

 

It was tempting.

 

"You were there." he simply said.

 

"What?" Iago sounded confused.

 

"When it happened. You were there, but I don't know why, or what you were doing or whether or not you hurt me."

 

"I would never hurt you."

 

"And I'm supposed to believe that? How? I have nothing to tell me either way, asides from your word and I don't know how honest you are."

 

Iago sighed.

 

"Alright. I need you to de me a favour-"

 

"What is it?"

 

"-just listen. Go into your bedroom."

 

Roderigo wandered through his apartment and opened the door to his bedroom. It was the first time since he'd been in there since he got back, as he always just ended up passed out on the couch, empty bottle in hand. The sheets were rumpled, just as he always left them and he was with a lingering scent of home.

 

"Are you in there?" Came Iago's voice.

 

"Uhh yeah. Yeah." Roderigo shook his head, trying to clear his mind. There was something so familiar about that smell.

 

"Go to your chest of drawers and open the top one."

 

He obeyed.

 

"Do you see that photo?" Iago asked.

 

He did. It was a photo of him, bare-chested and asleep, lying across someone's lap. He looked open. Vulnerable, but content. Blissful, almost. It was nice.

 

"Yeah, I see it. I like it, but I don't remember it."

 

"I took that photo."

 

Roderigo stilled. Surely he would've remembered.

 

"How do I know you're not just saying that?"

 

Iago sighed.

 

"There's another one in there somewhere. Of us."

 

Roderigo hunted through the drawer, eventually finding a picture of Iago and himself lying on the grass in Central Park. Iago had his arm around his shoulders and Roderigo's face was buried in his chest. They looked happy. He ground his teeth in frustration.

 

"I don't remember."

 

There was silence on the other end of the line.

 

"Look," Iago's voice finally sounded, "do you want to talk about what happened? Do you want to know? I understand it might be a bit much-"

 

"No, I want to know," Roderigo interrupted him, "just not now. Can we meet up?"

 

"Do you want to?"

 

"I think it's better to do these things in person."

 

"I'll be in touch. Just promise me one thing."

 

"What is it?"

 

"No more drinking."

 

"Fine."

 

The line went dead.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's getting interesting! Yay! On a sidenote- I love Montano thanks for listening to my ted talk.

Roderigo was dreaming. He knew that. But it was more than a dream. It was a memory. He knew that too.

 

He was back in the house, gagged and tied to a chair. Two men circled him as sharks circle their prey. One was older, with a stockier build, close cropped, dark hair and a thick, full beard. He moved with an air of importance; he was in charge. The other man was slimmer and shorter, with a handsome face, a mop of mousey brown hair and piercing green eyes. He was worried, but the older man was calm.

 

"What were you thinking? Iago's bound to show up any minute, all guns blazing, and all we've got is you and I."

 

"Cool it, Cass. I rang Monty and he's on his way. You know how he likes to have fun with this sort of things."

 

"That doesn't help us now, does it?" Roderigo detected a slight Scottish lilt in the young man- Cass' voice.

 

"Iago's a piece of work, but there's two of us and one of him. Besides, we're prepared." The older man pulled back his thick jacket to reveal a gun, stuffed into the pocket of his jeans.

 

Cass fell silent, but Roderigo could sense he was scared.

 

Another man rounded the corner, he was shorter than the other two, with a slim build. The top of his grey-brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Roderigo was sure he recognised him more than the other two.

 

Cass took a step forward.

 

"Monty!"

 

The man named Monty raised a gun and pointed it at the other two. The older man, the leader, pulled his own gun out and pointed it back at him.

 

"Montano, what the fuck are you doing?" He snarled. "Did that lying _bitch_ get in your head?"

 

"No, I haven't spoken to him," Montano responded coolly, "I'm doing this for you two. If you don't let him go," he gestured to Roderigo with his other hand, never taking the gun off the older man, "then you _know_ there'll be hell to pay, Othello. I don't want to get caught up in that shit."

 

Othello growled, like an animal, crazed with rage.

 

Montano turned to Cass.

 

"Cassio." He extended his hand. "You know I'm right. You don't want to be on the wrong side of Iago. He's twice your size and strength and he's coming. He's coming for both of you."

 

Cass (Cassio?) looked back and forth worriedly.

 

"Othello." He began. "I won't betray you. Not ever. But you have to _listen_.  Monty's right. Iago will come with back up and he'll be armed."

 

Roderigo felt a glimmer of hope. If he had a chance, it would be because of Cassio.

 

"I don't care."

 

"This is your life you're playing with, Othello." Montano warned, gun still trained on him. "Iago is someone you want to have on your side. _By_ your side."

 

"But he's not on my side anymore, is he? He was going to kill me! He's too ambitious and he will not rest, he will not stop until he is at the top. If he shows up, I'm going to kill him, but first," he pointed to Roderigo, "I'm doing to kill _him_ and make the bastard watch."

 

"Just think about what you're doing. Iago was a good friend. We loved him." Cassio seemed unsure of his place.

 

"Oh, I've thought about it." He turned to Montano. "Monty. It's time to put the gun down."

 

Montano gritted his teeth.

 

"I don't like this." He began to back out of the door, slowly. "I'm leaving."

 

"If you walk out that door," Othello began, "you're out. You can never come back here."

 

"This is madness!" Cassio was getting agitated.

 

"Is it?" Othello screamed, turning on him and lifting him up by the collar of his jacket. "Is it!?"

 

Montano cocked the gun.

 

"I'm getting out of here. If you two want any hope of getting out here alive, you need to work _together_. None of this bullshit."

 

Othello dropped Cassio, who stepped back, rubbing his neck.

 

"Good luck."

 

Montano was gone.

 

Othello turned to Roderigo and cracked his knuckles.

 

"Cut him loose, Cass. I want him already half dead when Iago gets here."

 

Cassio pulled out a knife and obediently cut Roderigo's binds and removed the gag.

 

Roderigo scrambled to his feet, terrified. He'd never been in a fight like this before.

 

"Keep your hands off me," he growled, trying to seem confident, "Iago will come for you and he _will_ kill you."

 

Othello and Cassio laughed.

 

"Would you look at that, boss?" Cassio slipped on one brass knuckleduster and advanced toward him, grinning sadistically, "He's threatening you. How cute."

 

Gone was the quiet, nervous man from before. This Cassio wanted blood.

 

Roderigo never even saw the first punch. It came from Othello and caught his cheekbone. The second one, also Othello, got him square in the eye.

 

He yelped in pain and staggered to the left, but stayed on his feet. His face felt like it was on fire. His hand went up to touch it and came away bloodied.

 

Othello grabbed him by the collar and battered his jaw with the butt of his knife. He held him aloft and Cassio moved in, striking his ribs again and again until Roderigo could hear them cracking and splintering.

 

Roderigo's breathing was shallow. Blood bubbled and frothed at his lips. They were going to kill him. He was going to die.

 

Cassio seized Roderigo by the hair and slammed his head down on the cold, metal chair that he had been tied to. Roderigo felt his skin split and something warm and wet trickle down his forehead. He lay slumped across the chair, sobbing with pain and fear. Of course, he couldn't literally feel the pain, he was dreaming, but he could remember it.

 

"Get on your feet!" Othello screamed, driven wilder by bloodlust and rage.

 

Roderigo dragged himself to his feet and stood, swaying in front of his attacker. He was overcome with a wave of nausea and had to fight not to throw up.

 

Othello sneered.

 

"Break him arms, Cass."

 

"No," Roderigo begged, "please don't. Please."

 

Cassio stepped forward and gripped Roderigo's left arm, twisting it behind his back.

 

"Please!"

 

Cass twisted it further and further, the pain quickly becoming unbearable, until there was a sickening snap and pain exploded like a gunshot.

 

Roderigo screamed.

 

"And the other one." Othello ordered.

 

Roderigo collapsed onto the chair, blood and tears pouring down his face. His head was swimming and his arm was more painful than anything he'd ever felt.

 

"Please," he whispered weakly.

 

Cassio only sneered and grabbed his other arm.

 

At that moment, the door burst open and Iago stormed in. He fired a single round from his gun, which hit Cassio in the leg. He went down screaming, maimed for life.

 

Othello charged at Iago with his own gun, but the taller man disarmed him with ease.

 

"Don't you ever fucking touch him again!" Iago roared, throwing Othello across the room.

 

Othello grabbed Roderigo and brought his knife to his throat…

 

***

 

Roderigo woke in his own bed, sobbing and soaked with his own sweat. What the hell was that?? His arm and neck both carried a dull ache. His breath came in ragged, panicked gasps.

 

He attempted to slow his breathing and calm down, but he broke down again, hot tears streaming down his face.

 

He disconnected his phone from is charger and dialled Iago's number, who eventually picked up, voice rough with sleep.

 

"Roderigo? What's going on?"

 

"You need to come over. Right now. I need answers." Roderigo managed to choke out.

 

"Ok, I'm coming," Iago sounded concerned, "are you alright? Are you hurt?"

 

"No." Roderigo replied, "I had a dream. I remember. They beat this shit out of me. Why? What did you do?"

 

Iago was silent.

 

"Hang on. I'll explain everything."

 

He hung up.

 

Roderigo curled up into a ball, twisted in his blankets and cried.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's really short I'M SORRY

Roderigo didn't even hear the door open. He looked up with a start when Iago entered his bedroom.

 

"You need to explain," Roderigo started, "absolutely everything. Othello. Cassio. Montano. Who are they? What was I doing there? Where were you?"

 

Iago sighed.

 

"I think I'm going to need to start from the beginning."

 

"Which is?"

 

"Us."

 

"What about us?"

 

"Do you remember, in May, about five months ago, you fell over on the subway, hit your head and passed out?"

 

Roderigo couldn't help but laugh a little.

 

"Yeah! I actually do!"

 

"I took you to the hospital."

 

"You did?"

 

"Yeah. You were all dazed and confused and you kept saying that you had to leave because you couldn't pay for your hospital fees. So I did."

 

"I… I think I remember that," Roderigo smiled at the memory, "They said I couldn't be at home alone, so you took me to your apartment."

 

"I did."

 

"And I freaked out in the morning because I remembered that Zeke was alone and you took me home." He paused. "And I didn't have any dog food, so you went to go buy some, but you came back with milk and pasta and bread and cheese as well, because I hadn't had a proper job for months and I just didn't have any money for food."

 

Iago smiled.

 

"I was worried about you."

 

Roderigo was overcome with emotion. He could _remember_ this.

 

"I think you saved my life."

 

"Hmm?"

 

"I was in a bad space I guess."

 

"I know."

 

"But then you showed up in my life and I was happy again. I think I can remember."

 

"All of it?"

 

"No. Just you. But the rest. I need to know."

 

"I was never meant to fall in love," Iago began, "but sometimes, things just happen. What happened to you is my fault and I'm so sorry."

 

"How?" Roderigo was confused.

 

"Because I took too many risks and I messed up too many times and I dragged you into all my bullshit. I was too reckless. I needed more and more, it was never enough."

 

"I don't understand."

 

"I shouldn't expect you to." Iago paused. "Listen. It's really late. Maybe I should explain in the morning."

 

"I don't know if I can sleep again. I need a drink." Roderigo moved to get up, but Iago grabbed his wrist.

 

"Please don't. Just lie down, ok? Try for me. I'll stay on the couch. I'll be just outside."

 

"Stay?" Roderigo asked.

 

"Are you sure?"

 

Roderigo nodded. He felt safe with Iago.

 

Iago climbed into the bed next to Roderigo and wrapped him arms around him, who lay his head on the other man's chest. It felt right. They fit together like pieces of a puzzle and Roderigo thought he finally understood. This was where he was meant to be.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a flashback! Sorry! It's really confusing!!! Hopefully by the end of it, things will make a bit more sense. Also: Cassio is a bitch but I love him so much

Roderigo woke up to sunlight streaming through the curtains and the smell of breakfast cooking in the next room. The bed next to him was still slightly warm. He rolled over and buried himself deeper into the sheets, enjoying the feeling of a lazy Sunday morning.

 

Eventually he managed to drag himself out of bed and throw on a pair of slacks over his boxers. He wandered through to the kitchen. Iago had made bacon. Weird. He normally never cooked.

 

"To what do I owe the pleasure of food?" He teased, voice rough with sleep.

 

Iago smiled and looked down into his coffee.

 

"We need to talk."

 

"What's wrong?" Roderigo tried to keep the worry out of his voice.

 

"I need to go away for a few days."

 

"For work?"

 

"No. Something came up. I made a mistake. A lot of mistakes actually, but I need to keep you safe right now."

 

"What's happening, Iago? I don't understand."

 

Iago stood and placed his hands on Roderigo's bare shoulders.

 

"I promise I'm going to explain everything."

 

"Explain now."

 

Iago looked uncomfortable.

 

"I've been mixed up with the wrong sorts of people. For a lot of my life. When I met you I was supposed to leave it behind, but I can't. I've gotten in deeper and deeper and now I need to take care of this shit once and for all."

 

"How did you keep this from me whole time?"

 

"I had to keep you safe!"

 

Roderigo ground his teeth, frustrated.

 

"If you wanted to keep me safe you should have told me."

 

"I was afraid you'd leave me."

 

"Never."

 

"I was stupid. I know and I'm sorry."

 

"So what now?"

 

"Like I said, I need to go away. I'll be home soon, I promise. For now," he handed Roderigo a handgun, "keep this somewhere you can reach it easily and don't trust anyone."

 

"What the _fuck_ , Iago?"

 

"You need to trust me."

 

"I do, of course I trust you."

 

"Good." Iago hugged Roderigo tightly and picked up a duffel bag that had been hidden behind the counter. "I'll be back soon. I love you."

 

"I love you too."

 

Just like that, he was gone.

 

Roderigo sighed. What the hell happened to a peaceful Sunday? He looked at the clock on the kitchen wall and realised he had to start getting ready for work. He a had a shift a bit later this morning.

 

He picked up the gun. He knew how to fire it, of course, but hoped he wouldn't have to. Where to put it, that was the question.

 

He headed through to the bathroom, bacon forgotten and opened the cupboard. He could leave the gun there for now and work something more permanent out once he'd gotten his head straight.

 

He entered the bedroom and changed into a white t-shirt and jeans before feeding Zeke, grabbing his wallet, phone and keys and heading down to the street. He hailed a cab and jumped in, off to where he now worked at a funky café on the Upper East side. He liked the job and the pay was not bad, but he wouldn't have it if it hadn't been for Iago.

 

He was worried about Iago. He knew that he was strong, brave and good in a fight, but Roderigo had no idea what he was up against. He shook the unwelcome thoughts from his mind. _Iago said he'd be home in a few days._

 

The cab pulled up outside the café and he paid the driver and got out.

 

He entered the café and headed into the back, enjoying the calmness of the wooden and white themed interior.

 

He grabbed an apron and headed out to man the coffee machine.

 

His workmate, Tom, grinned at him from where he'd been frothing milk and pouring coffee.

 

"You're a little early this morning, bud. Does this mean I get to go home?" Tom winked.

 

"Yeah, you wish. Ella texted me last night, I told her you'd take her shift." Roderigo teased.

 

Tom shook his head and laughed, bleached silver hair falling in his eyes.

 

"You're a prick, you know that, right?"

 

Roderigo shrugged. "So I'm told."

 

"Whatever. I'm making coffee, you have to man the till."

 

Roderigo rolled his eyes.

 

"Fine."

 

The day was pretty quiet, up until lunchtime, when a group of twenty-something year old girls arrived to make unnecessarily complicated orders and make Roderigo's life a living hell.

 

A short time after the girls had left, a young man entered the café and wandered up to order. Roderigo had seen him around before, but had never actually spoken to him.

 

He was small and slim, but handsome, eyes covered with a pair of designer shades. He flashed Roderigo a winning smile.

 

"Good morning sir, what can I get for you?" Roderigo put on his 'It's time to charm the customers' face.

 

"I'll have a large latte, no sugar, thanks."

 

"Coming right up. Will that be all for today?"

 

The man pushed his sunglasses atop his head to reveal beautiful green eyes.

 

"How about your number?"

 

Roderigo couldn't help but laugh a little.

 

"That's very charming, but I actually have a boyfriend."

 

The other man raised one eyebrow.

 

"Oh, you do? What time do you get off then?

 

"Uh four o'clock today and yes, I do." Roderigo was beginning to get a little uncomfortable, most people would have backed off by now and he sensed that maybe this man wasn't after his number anymore. "That's $3.60. Can I have a name for your order, please?"

 

The man grinned and handed over the money.

 

"Michael."

 

"Thank you, won't be long."

 

The man wandered off and sat down at an empty table. He pulled out his phone and began to browse social media.

 

A few more customers arrived and Roderigo soon forgot all about him.

 

It was later, when the man was leaving he noticed him make a phone call just outside, before glancing pointedly in Roderigo's direction.

 

Roderigo tried to ignore it, he was obviously overthinking.

 

The rest of the day passed smoothly. They had plenty of business and being on shift with Tom was fun.

 

Four o'clock came quickly enough, Roderigo headed outside and took a cab home. He checked his phone for word from Iago, but found nothing. He tried not to worry.

 

He arrived home and jogged up the five flights of stairs to his apartment. He was fit enough, so wasn't really out of breath by the time he got to the top.

 

He went to unlock his door, but found it ajar. He opened it cautiously and headed inside.

 

There, sitting on a chair in his kitchen, was a man, idly spinning an ornate knife around his fingers, being careful not to cut himself with the sharp blade.

 

Roderigo stopped dead.

 

"What the hell are you doing in my house?"

 


End file.
